India, India
by TwoGurusinDrag
Summary: John, Paul, a late night, and a Tailsman necklace. McLennon One Shot.


**Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and none of the events presented ever occurred in real life. Characterizations of real life public figures may or may not be accurate. This story contains adult content, and consensual (light) BDSM. **

It was the perfect gift, really. Although the item in question was somewhat overpriced, Paul was willing to pay. After all, while Rishikesh Marketplace was quite busy this afternoon, during the several minutes that the Beatle had perused the goods, he hadn't seen a single other customer so much as stop to glance this particular merchant's wares. The vendor- a stout, older man, appeared exhausted- eyelids heavy, he appeared to be surprising a yawn as he accepted McCartney's money with a gracious nod.

Paul pocketed the item with a sly little grin. He had a feeling that his pet- his gorgeous little pet would positively _adore _what he had in store for the evening's activities.

::::::::::

"Cyn, be a doll, and tell the Maharishi I won't be at tea tonight, hmm?" John's eyes were closed, as he absentmindedly searched for notes on his acoustic. His fingers danced over the worn frets with an almost delicate grace.

"I…" Cynthia Lennon crossed her arms, searching for something to say. Recently, their marriage had been tearing at the seams, due to John's prolonged absences and general disinterest in family life. "I agreed to come along on this trip because I thought… I thought that maybe we'd grow closer as a couple. Just to be out in nature, without the fans, or your work, or the press. The idea seemed peaceful, romantic even! We've been here for over a week, John, and all you've done so far is fool around with your band mates and play that damn guitar!"

_Fool around, indeed. _He smirked slightly, recalling the events of last night. God- he was no poof, but he'd be kidding himself if he said those nights with Paul weren't some of the best nights he'd had in a long time. If Cyn ever found out, it'd break her heart, poor girl. She simply wouldn't be able to handle the truth: John wasn't fulfilled by the marriage. He needed something… _more. _

"Look, Cynthia. I'm writing." Lennon's eyes snapped open, and he abruptly shifted himself upright in the chair. " I'm in the middle working on a song- and if I don't keep at it tonight, I've got a hunch that the inspiration will be gone by morning. But… " He glanced at his wife, she was clearly irritated. He knew he had to say something to placate her, to get her to leave. "I'll take you on a walk tomorrow, if you like. Just like old times. Would you like that? Just you and me? Sun out, the birdies chirpin'…"

Cynthia smiled in spite of herself. Call it the Lennon charm; John could always cheer her up, even when things felt so _broken_. "Yeah… that'd be nice. Really nice…" She sighed, smile dimming slightly. "Well I suppose, if you're busy, I'll leave you with your work. Good luck on your song, dear. I'll be back in a few hours."

The Beatle waved her off with a grin. "Hare Krishna and all that." As the door slammed shut behind her, John fell back into his chair, relieved. "Christ. Thought I'd never get her to leave…." He glanced at the clock. 8:50. He had exactly ten minutes until his lover would arrive.

With not so much as another strum, John set down his guitar, and stood to prepare himself for his Master.

::::::::::

Exactly ten minutes later, John was fully nude, kneeling submissively beside the bed, eyes downcast. This was how he wanted be found when his partner stepped through the doorway. In this position, John made himself vulnerable.

Such submission wasn't a sign of fear. Rather, it was a sign of trust, of love_. _Lennon trusted in his lover so completely, so fully, that he was willing to put his ego aside completely, if only for a little while. Submission brought John a sense of liberation, a sense of freedom. And it was… beautiful.

Years back, he had introduced the idea of power play to Cynthia, but she was utterly repelled by the thought. In her mind, such behavior was perverted, alien, even disgusting. Now, Cynthia Lennon was no prude, but the thought of tying up her husband and slapping him around- for fun? No, there was simply no way she was _ever_ going to try that.

And Yoko… Lennon had initially hoped that she would be more open to the matter. She was experimental, after all. An artist. Willing to try new things, right? But Ono, it seemed, wanted not to dominate, but to assert herself as a perfect equal to her lover at all times. Handcuffs and chains simply didn't fit into her political philosophy. John respected that, he really did. But at the same time, he craved more than what she was able to give.

But now that John and his newest lover had discovered each other's secret interest in the art of the taboo, things became _exciting _once again. It was a healthy relationship, well healthy by John's standards anyways. While it may have seemed unorthodox to some, this new relationship couldn't feel more natural. After all, John and Paul had been friends for years. There was already so much trust and love brimming between the pair that it was truly a wonder that they hadn't tried it earlier. Why if he had to guess…

John's attention snapped back to the present when he heard the footsteps. Sure and swift, they grew louder and louder, falling to rest just outside the door. And with a turn of a key, John knew, _he_ had come.

Lennon didn't dare raise his head. For he knew full well that Master McCartney expected _complete_ obedience from his pet.

:::::::::::

Paul slammed the door open with an aggressive. Although, in reality, he was in an excellent mood, he knew his partner preferred the scene to start at the moment of arrival.

"Oh Johnnie boy! Master's here."

He scanned the room for his lover, eyes coming to rest on the huddled naked figure, cowering on the decorative rug. McCartney licked his lips, taking in the sight of the other man's exposed flesh. Sometimes… his lover was truly _breathtaking. _

In the dim lamplight John's natural freckles were accentuated. His lower vertebrae peeked out of his arched back ever so slightly. The tawny, shoulder length length hair gave Lennon's bowed head an almost… feminine appearance. Now Paul knew full well that John Lennon was no woman. But the androgyny was incredibly captivating.

But, Paul thought, shaking himself back into reality, there would be time to admire tomorrow. Tonight, tonight was a night of pleasure Adjusting his crisp blue shirt, the younger man assumed the role of dominance once more.

He strode forwards, taking care to appear cool and collected. "Look at you, my obedient little _doggie_." McCartney purred, stopping to crouch in front of the other man. "Waiting here, on your knees, just for _me." _

John let out a lustful whine. Smirking at the sound, McCartney gently lifted the other man's chin with two fingers. "Miss me, Johnnie boy?"

Lennon gasped, "_Paul." _

McCartney's face turned sour, and he issued John a quick, but relatively harmless slap to the face. "That's not the name we use here. You know better. Now. Try again."

John bit his lip and moved to stare at the floor once again. "Master… Master McCartney."

"There's the ticket. That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Paul winked, pulling his lover in for a quick kiss. Well- it was _intended_ to be a quick kiss, anyways. But as the mouths connected, the dominant found he simply couldn't pull away.

John had always had a tiny mouth. And in each and every session, McCartney used that to his full advantage. Gripping the other man's shoulders, Paul _dominated_ Lennon with a much larger, and much more aggressive tongue. John, in turn, gripped at Paul's rolled up shirtsleeves with growing fervor. Pleased at his pet's behavior, Paul ran fingernails up the older man's back, leaving a trail of light red marks which left John shivering once again.

After a few more moments, Paul broke from the barrage of kisses, in order to allow John to catch his breath. "Now, I brought a gift for you, my pet. Would you like to see what it is? "

John nodded vigorously, clearly curious as to what Paul had in store. "Yes… yes Master."

At Lennon's words, McCartney nodded, and moved to sit cross-legged on the floor. He motioned for John to do the same.

Once both men were seated, Paul took the opportunity to pull the small gift he had spotted in Rishikesh out of his pocket. A curious looking little necklace- a symbol of good luck, a talisman.

"I want you to wear this as a reminder of _us, _of tonight, of past nights, of future nights." Paul suddenly looked vulnerable himself, his large doe eyes peeking up at his partner. He dropped character momentarily; to make sure John was okay with the idea. "I just thought… you can wear it in public, you know? 'cause unlike with birds, we can't really hold hands or anything in front of the press. I just thought- as a symbol…." He continued awkwardly. "If you don't like it…"

"Put it on me?" Lennon asked quietly, glancing down at the other man.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I want you to put it on me." John repeated, a little louder. "As a symbol of ownership."

"Oh, right. Sorry." Paul blushed slightly, arching himself forward to fasten the leather band around Lennon's neck. "You like it then?"

"Love it." John smiled, reassuringly. " Now ya know, you're not being very dominant right now. Come on and grow a pair, Paulie."

Paul raised his eyebrows, amused. "Cheeky git. You know… I'll have to punish you for that last remark."

"I'd like to see you try." Lennon grinned from ear to ear, waiting to see if McCartney was up for the challenge.

Without another word, Paul scrambled forwards, invading his lovers' mouth once again. John allowed himself to fall to the floor under the other man's weight, with a soft sigh of pleasure at the impact with cold wood.

McCartney grabbed the older man's wrists, and pinned them right above John's head with one hand, using his own weight as counterbalance. "You naughty little thing." He teased, bringing the other hand to pull on the talisman. "I _own _you now. And you still find reason to disobey?"

Lennon writhed under the weight, and the pressure of the band around his neck. He was beginning to grow hard, with the other man's warm (but still fully clothed) body moving on top of him. It appeared, to him, that Paul was beginning to harden as well. He could feel the bulge growing, even through several layers of clothing. "Master, I…." John wriggled in order to produce more friction, under the guise of 'struggling'. Paul seemed to enjoy it after all, growing harder, and emitting a small grunt here and there. But John soon came to realize that the clothed friction simply wasn't enough. He wanted more. To please and be pleased. "Master… I need…"

McCartney growled, tightening his grip on the other man's wrists, and digging his nails in slightly. "You _what?" _

"_I need more." _

With a slight grin, and a final kiss, Paul rolled off of his submissive, and pulled himself up to stand. Now what should… oh! He had almost forgotten. The reason he had chosen that particular collar- how could he be so stupid as to nearly forget the best part? For rivets in the sides of the leather band were the perfect places to attach a thin rope- a leash. And luckily, McCartney had brought just the thing.

Rummaging about in his pocket once more, Macca found the item in question and held it out towards his pet. "Now. A _second _surprise. Would you like me to put you on a leash, little Johnnie boy? And tug you about, to do _whatever _I please?"

John's mouth watered at the sight. Oh, they had never tried _that _before. Yes, yes he wanted it. He _craved_ it. Lennon attempted to speak, but his voice came out as little more than a whimper "…_please…" _

That was all the encouragement Master McCartney needed. Bending down slightly to knot the rope to the collar, he gave an experimental tug before proceeding further. Yes, it appeared he was correct in assuming the necklace would hold up for this kind of play. Oh- this was going to be fun.

Pulling himself back to full height, Paul eyed his submissive with feigned disdain. "Now then. On your knees."

John quickly and quietly moved back to his initial submissive position. It wouldn't do to upset his Master any further, after all.

"Now." McCartney continued, tugging on the leash once more. "Get me out of these clothes. The socks, shoes, trousers, and underwear. I'll keep the shirt on."

"Yes Paul." John spoke without thinking. He knew the other man preferred 'Master' or 'Master McCartney' during a scene. But, in the heat of the moment, he just slipped.

Macca stiffened, quickly delivering a second, slightly rougher, slap to the face. "What did I say about names?"

John licked his lips, savoring the blow. "Sorry…" Wait. He had an idea. "Sorry… _Paul." _

McCartney sneered, secretly amused with John's little game. However, he was set on staying in character, and not allowing his mirth to show. "Oh, is that how we're going to play it, then?" He grabbed John's hair with his free hand, pulling somewhat. "I expect _behavior. _I expect _obedience. _Now Johnnie, _be good."_

Suddenly, at the realization at what Macca had just said, both John and Paul were laughing far harder than they should. Christ- what was this, a rock n roll revue? Oh fuck, that was one for the books. 'Johnnie Be Good.'

With a final chuckle, John sat up out of his submissive position, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Damn it, Paul. I'll never be able to hear that song again without burstin' into hysterics. Cyn 'll think I'm mad."

"Sorry…" Paul ran a hand through his hair, still grinning like the Cheshire cat. "I only realized what I said after it had already come out of my mouth."

"Real mood killer that…. Johnnie be good. Bloody hell..." John stretched, the smile slowly dimming from his face. "Well, I'll tell you what. I've certainly come to learn to expect the unexpected with you, Paulie boy."

"Shut up." Paul smirked, grabbing a pillow off the bed and hitting Lennon's arm playfully. "Besides, I still got a stiffy, an' it appears…" he glanced down at the other man's form. "You do too. We ought'nt let them go to waste."

John nodded, raising a mischievous eyebrow. "Well then, what are you going to do about that, _Master?" _

"Oh I've got a few ideas." Suddenly, Macca's demeanor changed once more, and he was back in his dominant persona. "Now, I believe I ordered you to undress me?"

The other Beatle bit back a grin. He really loved to see Paul in this light. So utterly _in control. _In public, John usually was the center of attention; with his loud remarks and extroverted personality, he effortlessly captured the attention of any crowd. Paul, on the other hand, often took to the side, remaining cordial and gentlemanly at all times. But here, behind closed doors, roles were reversed. And oh, when Macca slipped into his other persona… in John's mind, the results were no less than _stunning_.

Without another word, John scooted forward to obey his lover's commands. First, it was off with the belt, discarded carelessly onto the floor. Then, he struggled with Paul's trousers. They were extremely tight after all- only to be made tighter by the other man's excitement. After a few moments of failed attempts, McCartney, with one hand still on the leash, moved to assist, and soon the pants were down around his ankles. Next came the socks and shoes, and finally, Master Paul was wearing nothing but his shirt and skivvies.

"_You're gorgeous." _John closed his eyes, and bent forward to kiss Paul through the fabric of the underwear.

Paul closed his eyes in turn, guiding a single peaceful hand through the older man's hair. "I could say the same, love."

That was all the encouragement John needed. He yanked down the underwear and took his Master in his mouth.

Paul bit back a cry, as he reached out for something to grab- one hand yanking on the leash, and the other pulling on John's hair, twisting it about his fingers.

Lennon's head bobbed up and down, tongue tracing as of yet unwritten lyrics onto his partner's most intimate areas. John knew he would never- _could never-_ do this to with other man. It would just feel wrong, dirty even. But with Paul… his Paul. He felt belonging, he felt togetherness, and for once, he felt _at peace. _

"S-Stop." Paul suddenly pushed his lover away with a shake of the head. John looked confused, but he immediately pulled back, McCartney's taste still lingering in his mouth. Noting the confusion, Macca took a moment to explain, gasping with every few breaths. "Stop. Sorry. I'm… I just… I'm close and I just don't want to finish like this. Not tonight, not like this." He panted, taking a moment to catch his breath. "Other ideas."

John nodded, his confusion giving way to a lustful smirk. "Yes, Master."

Macca ran a hand through his hair, glancing about the room. "Do you still have that lube?"

The smirk grew even larger. John twitched, in anticipation of what was to come. "_Yes. _Master."

"Retrieve it for me, pet." Lennon moved to stand, when the younger man stopped him. "No, no. Stay on your knees."

John nodded, and, bowing his head, crawled over to the dresser to retrieve the bottle in question. The impromptu leash dragged behind him, a constant reminder of his servitude.

Finding the item in the lowest drawer, Lennon quickly crawled back, and held the bottle out to his Master. "Is this what you wanted?"

Paul nodded, taking the bottle in hand, and bending down to kiss his partner's lips. "Now turn around, love. I'll take my time with this. I want you to enjoy it as much as I do."

John moaned at the thought and positioned himself for what was to come.

McCartney knelt, to prepare both himself and his lover. He dipped his fingers in the small bottle of lube, and then, ever so carefully, stuck one, then two then three fingers into the other man.

Lennon's breathing grew ragged, as he fixated on the pleasurable stretching sensation. Once foreign and strange, such a method of penetration had quickly become one of his favorite types of intercourse. However, preparation was always incredibly frustrating to John. The fingers felt good, there was no denying it, but after a bit, he needed something fuller. Something that no hand could provide.

"Please… Master. I'm ready."

Macca removed his fingers slowly, one by one. He then focused his attention on his own pulsating length, generously applying lubricant in order ensure the maximum amount of pleasure for both himself and his pet.

Once he was satisfied with his work, Master McCartney pressed his tip to John's entrance, causing the other man to emit a cry. Paul quickly withdrew, concerned. "Are you all right?"

John nodded vigorously. "Go on. It felt… it felt good."

The Dominant resumed position and slowly, ever so slowly, entered his lover. They were both extraordinarily hard now. So _ready. _

Paul reached out and took the leash in hand once again. With his other hand, he reached around and found his partner's member. Slowly, at first, he began to move his hips forwards and back, in and out of John. At the same time, he stroked the other man, gently, teasingly

Lennon moaned again, louder this time. He moved his hips in time with the younger man's- the experience only intensified with the pull of the collar around his neck.

"P… Paul…"

The man in question began to pick up pace, all the while careful to make sure his lover was reacting favorably to the situation. McCartney intensified his hand movements, yanking the collar tighter and tighter, and bringing his strokes to be longer, heavier. These were no longer the teasing ministrations of foreplay. This- this was the final stretch.

The two men soon had a vigorous rhythm, a perfect unison, much like the harmony they had on stage. Such an act of passion was, among other things, a return to the basic essentials of their relationship. There were inordinate amounts of trust involved in the give and take of the world of kink, far more than could be found in any variation of vanilla sex. Here, there was love, pain, pleasure, and perhaps most of all, there was _understanding_. Paul needed what only John could provide, and John needed only what Paul could give. In that moment, everything just felt so _right_.

The emotions, the intercourse, the _love _present on this particular humid night_, _it was nearly too much for Paul to take. He squeezed his eyes shut, reveling in the waves of physical and emotional fulfillment, as he quickened his pace even more, to the point of climax. "John… oh fuck… _John." _

With a final cry, Paul came in an explosion of fervor and passion. Moments later, Lennon followed suit, spilling onto the carpet of the small room with a series of moans and gasps. McCartney delivered a few final thrusts and pulled out, releasing his hands from both John's member and the leash.

They sat down beside each other, covered in sweat and grime and come, neither speaking a word. Both men were exhausted, mentally and physically, and right now, neither felt the need to break the musky silence.

Outside the room lay India, a land of new freedoms, new possibilities, new ideas. But in here, thought Paul, in this small, simply furnished room, lay _paradise. _

:::::::::::

It was 10 AM when the Maharishi gathered his followers for a morning meal. It was a simple affair, consisting of Paratha and a light vegetable curry, traditional breakfast foods of the region. The day was bright, sunny, and his students- a dozen or so on this particular morning- gathered on brightly colored mats to eat and enjoy the sunshine.

John had just returned from what appeared to be a pleasant walk with Cynthia, and both man and wife were in good spirits- laughing and holding hands over their breakfast.

Cyn couldn't put her finger on why, but after she had returned from a late night revel with the others (except for Paul, who had gone to bed early due to a nasty headache- poor man), her husband had seemed far… calmer than he had when she had left. He greeted her with a smile when she entered the room, and although he had made very little progress on the song he had been working on, he seemed to be anything but upset. It was nice… really _nice _to see John in such a state. Maybe, Cynthia hoped, maybe things were looking up for the Lennon family after all.

Paul, meanwhile, was engaging Jane in a conversation about her market finds. The girls had decided to purchase all kinds of bright, colorful saris, the fabric of which they could use to commission custom, western style clothing for themselves and their men. Despite Jane's excitement, Paul couldn't help but inwardly gloat at the thought of his _own_ lucky market find. Far more fun to think about, really.

Speaking of which… McCartney glanced over at Lennon, noting in delight that John was still wearing his collar. And, Paul had to admit; it looked damn attractive on John. Even without the leash attached.

John noticed Paul's eyes on him, and he took a moment to turn and wink, before quickly going back to his conversation with Cynthia.

"Now, everyone, if I may speak." The Maharishi quieted down his followers with a wave of his hand. "This morning, after our meal, my assistants and I are going to lead a meditation session. This will be different from previous sessions, as you will be asked to meditate in long sessions, the length of which you will decide for yourselves based on individual abilities. The length of time spent in meditation will vary greatly from person to person. Some of you may only last twenty minutes, some for several hours. However, there are notable exceptions. I recently had a student able to meditate for forty-two hours on end."

"Forty-two hours?" John raised an eyebrow, with a skeptical chuckle. "Christ! How would you use the toilet?"

The spiritual leader simply shook his head in amusement. Lennon's belligerence was all in good fun, after all. "Now Johnny, be good."

John and Paul both collapsed with laughter. And in all his great wisdom, the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi never truly was able to discover the reason why.


End file.
